Her very own Fairytale
by Inamioly
Summary: Hermione's story. Everyone knows she'll end up with Ron. But what if her heart tells her otherwise? Fluff, or kinda. Read, yes? Review, yes? Enjoy, of course!


**A/N: Very random. I always felt like doing a story like this. Tell me what you think, please! :D**

**Merry Christmas, you all! Have splendid holidays!**

She went from being an exasperatingly regular muggle bookworm, to being the Gryffindor Princess.

_Her whole world spun wildly till her surroundings were no longer recognizable, and her life went through drastic and major changes._

_**She was living her very own fairytale.**_

It all started when her parents received The Letter. She did not understand much at the time, but she did understand some of it. It said – it was actually written on paper – that she was unique, special among those whom she had always fathomed to be exceptional. She could do Magic. She, Hermione Granger, was a magician. Not like those we can find on some circuses, but a Real Magician, with a real wand and real spells and potions. She even had to purchase yucky items as snake eyeballs, bat wings and rat tales. She wrinkled her nose at that particular topic, but her eyes lit up when her mom told her she was going to be living in a castle.

Her mind was quick to fit all the pieces together. A castle needed a princess. And every princess needed her own Prince Charming. The little girl swallowed in pride, and promised herself she was going to be extraordinarily extraordinary, so her Prince would be proud to call her his Princess.

She studied all the books, and when the time to leave home finally came, there was no spell, potion or piece of History she did not know by heart.

At the train station, she spotted the Hogwarts' train. Hogwarts, her castle. She kept reminding her mum of that, but the words _don't worry, I won't forget you_ kept leaving her mouth every now and then. She kissed her parents goodbye, and went aboard her pumpkin carriage.

It was not long before she met the two _Bestest_ friends she could ever ask for. Harry Potter, a tiny, simple, humble boy that reminded her so much of the brother she had never had, and Ronald Weasley, who cringed at the sound of his full name and would rather be called Ron, and who had five older brothers and one younger sister. They did not cross paths until Halloween, though. Not really. It was only on that frightening night that, after the redhead had said some very hurtful things which had been the cause of her search for refuge in the place where a giant troll sought someone to kill, she said _thank you for saving me_, and they shrugged it off with a _never mind_.

They were inseparable ever since. The Golden Trio, as they were called. Harry, as it turned out, had a lot to accomplish, and that whole lot was very likely to end up badly. But neither Hermione nor Ron ever backed out, nor did they ever regret their decision.

Together, they faced the many challenges they had stumbled across during the hunt for the Sorcerer's Stone. Each one of them had their role, and each one of them completed their tasks, never once doubting whether they had made the right decision. Hermione knew then her life had a purpose. She was not only the damsel in distress that needed rescue she had always encountered on her books, but she occasionally played the role of savior as well.

Her second year was very confusing and disturbing for the inexperienced, yet unimaginably intelligent, little witch. After working out the puzzle that had been on their minds from the moment Harry had told them he was hearing voices, all she remembered was to wake up in the Hospital Wing with the unsettling feeling she had just missed out on something of the biggest importance. It was only when she entered the Great Hall, and saw Harry and Ron sitting at their table with a gloomier look to them than the expected – they were in for a period of three months with no homework, and Hermione had thought it to be enough to lift up their moods – that she fully understood the situation. Basilisk; Muggleborn attacks; Mudblood Granger. She gasped and sped up towards both boys, fiercely hugging Harry. Then it was Ron's turn.

And they awkwardly faced each other. And Hermione smiled sweetly, yet a bit disappointed, and shook his hand instead.

From then on, the little princess knew it was an unspoken certainty going on everyone's mouths that she was going to marry Prince Ron. And who was she to go against the flow? Maybe that was, indeed, the missing factor in the equation. Maybe that was the fact that would turn her crappy year into a marvelous one. The search had come to an end. She had found her Prince Charming.

Her third year was confusing, to say the least. Ron spent half of it mad at her for something she was sure did not deserve such an outburst on his behalf. Scabbers had always been a pain, as she saw it. But nonetheless, she cried. Even though she _knew_ he was not worth it, she cried, because she saw her very own fairytale sinking.

The Yule Ball.

That was when she saw things clearly for the _very first time_. Harry had been the deer caught in the spotlight; Ron had been the deer-friend that had not stayed to help avoiding his friend's certain death. Hermione wanted to scream, yell at him, make him see the huge mistake he had made. But she never did. By the time the Yule Ball came, she was already Gryffindor's Princess, but she lacked a Prince.

Until Krum showed up, that is. Dreamy, exotic at first. Annoying in the end. What a disappointement.

And everyone had seen her fight with Ron… only everyone called it a lovers' quarrel. Why could she not feel that way? It all seemed to point towards her getting Ron in the end.

She started to let her fairytale fade away. She did not want to believe in something that would get her hopes up only to bring them down afterwards. It was the beginning of a circle, but she never wanted to find herself in the same position again.

So Prince Charming was gone, she told herself, and closed the book that had always whispered so nice things along her life. Princess Hermione had met her end, as well. And Hermione Granger would put up with Ron's bickering, and Harry's complacent attitude towards it. Ginny Weasley kept ranting about how perfect the two of them would be as sisters once Hermione and Ron got married, and the girl could only focus on the crowd to forbid the tears to flee her eyes. When had she lost control of her life?

Her sixth year was like all the others. She studied, and she kept Ron and Harry studying as well. Her very accurate hearing would sometimes catch murmurs about bets on how long the two of The Golden Trio would make a Golden Duet, and it would every single time make her study harder, so the words she read on the books were louder than the constant premonition.

So yes, Year Six was averagely regular, with all the fighting with Voldemort they had all got accustomed to, except for a window that opened itself and allowed Hermione to peek through it. A boy always scanning her, no matter the heaviness of the crowd she was in, and he could always make her smile. She never really said her name out loud, nor ever did she think it, but when her best friend Ginny Weasley told her how she had dreamt of her and Harry's children had dark hair and were green-eyed, she could not lie.

She had dreamt once about the future, and she disliked thinking about it as the atmosphere in the magical world did not really allow them to think of a chance to survive the massive massacre they had been going through, but it warmed her heart to think of the two beautiful children that had called her _mommy_. Only they were not redheads, nor had they freckles. Ron Weasley was not her Prince Charming, and the sole reason she had permitted herself to build her very own fairytale once more was because she had found the Real One.

Hermione knew there would never exist a _them_, as his family believed in the most ancient, absurd rules ever made in the Wizarding World. A pureblood and a Mudblood shall never cross their paths, futures, lives.

But she could dream.

_A beautiful baby girl, no more than three years old, with silvery eyes and platinum blond hair, had called for her mommy in her dream. A very handsome little boy, around seven, had picked the baby up, and told her Mommy's sleeping. Daddy will feed you., and passed her up to a serene, smiling man, whose eyes mirrored the baby girl's. _


End file.
